Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Assuming my mom wouldn’t mind waiting around a little longer, I hopped in the shower before returning downstairs. When I started making my way down, armed with the laundry basket, it confused me to hear Alex’s voice coming from the games room.
“I thought he left,” I said to my mom, planting the basket by her feet.
“Car trouble. He’s on the phone with the garage.”
“I’ve told him a billion times to give up on that heap of junk. I’ve seen less rust on a…well on…on something really fucking rusty.”
I should just buy him a new fucking car. And so today’s plan was born. I was going to buy Alex a new car. If I told him, he’d tell me not to, so instead I decided to just do it anyway and have it delivered to the club where he worked. I had nothing else to do with my day.
“Fucking Tuesday,” Alex grunted, making his way into the lounge and snapping his cell closed so hard he must’ve cracked the screen. “They can’t fit me in until fucking Tuesday!” Alex didn’t swear all that often, or even get angry, really. It was a side of him I wasn’t used to and I wanted to make it go away.
“Just take one of mine,” I offered. “Keys are in the safe. Take your pick.”
Sighing, he replied, “Thanks. I really appreciate it. Should only be for a week or two.”
“Dude, that car is in the garage more than it’s out. Think it’s time to say your goodbyes.”
“It’ll be fine.” I knew he was too proud to admit he couldn’t afford a new one, and that same pride would make him turn down my offer to pay for it instead. “Dammit. Now I’m late.” He raced upstairs, heading for the safe, and was back down and out the door with no more than a wave in under a minute.
What the hell’s eating him today?
My mom left soon after, and right away I called Sawyer to ask if I could borrow Neil. According to my mom there was an army of reporters outside my gates this morning that I couldn’t be bothered dealing with alone today. No doubt I was at the center of some bullshit sex or drugs scandal again. Some desperate chick selling her fuck ‘n’ tell. As suspected, Sawyer wouldn’t even take a shit without his bodyguard watching the door, so I called Ryder instead, who agreed to come over in an hour.
Still feeling sorry for myself, I used that hour to pour some soluble aspirin down my throat and lie down on the couch.
I’m never drinking again.
When someone punched the code into my gates, the various monitors dotted around the house pinged. It was almost one AM, and I suspected this particular ping would be Alex returning from his shift at the club, coming to thank me for the car. I walked over to the monitor and beamed at the new bright red Jag passing through my gates. Ryder and I both agreed it fitted Alex’s personality perfectly – cool, sophisticated and bold. Yet it still crossed my mind that he would refuse to sign for it. Clearly, he did accept it, and so I made my way back to my seat feeling rather happy with myself.
“What the fuck is this?” Alex held the keychain up in the air after storming into the house and kicking the door closed behind him.
“Um, is that a trick question?”
“I signed for a box. A small box. A box which I didn’t discover until the end of my shift contained a set of keys and a note telling me where my new Jag, which I didn’t order, was parked. So, this was you wasn’t it?”
“You needed a car.” I shrugged and it pissed him off, evident from the scowl on his face. “So I got you a car.”
“You can’t do shit like this, Matt! I can buy my own goddamn car!”
“If that were true you wouldn’t keep pouring your paycheck into the damn garage trying to repair that lump of rust you’ve been driving around since you were seventeen years old. Besides, I can afford it.”
Alex usually kept his dark hair pretty short, disguising the fact he had a natural wave. Recently, however, it’d grown out a little, and while he paced the room ranting into the air, I found myself watching one defiant curl bouncing up and down above his eyebrow with each stomp of his feet instead of actually listening to him.
“Matt!”
“Huh?” I blinked myself back into the room, realizing I hadn’t heard a single word.
“I said it doesn’t matter how much money you have. I’ve never taken a dime from you. I’ve always paid my way and I always will. I’m not friends with you because of your status, Matt, and if you think I am then-”